


A birthday party

by The Bookwyrm (Amicitia)



Series: Inquisitor Trevelyan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drama, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-27 17:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7626682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amicitia/pseuds/The%20Bookwyrm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor's birthday is coming up. How would our usuals at Skyhold handle it?</p><p>Some fluff, and some drama in building the world and story, as well as establishing some aspects of my Inquisitor's personality. Mostly interactions between the companions</p><p>---------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Sera leaned in curiously. “Well out with it already, what sort of news is it that Issy-prissy isn’t supposed to hear?</p><p>The ambassador took a deep breath, shaking her head at the nickname the Inquisitor had been stuck with and smiled at them. “With the Inquisitor’s birthday coming up next week, Lelianna and I were hoping that those of the Inner Circle could throw a surprise birthday party for him.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan-fic ever, so please forgive me for its quality. I've tried to let the characters remain as true as possible.
> 
> \----------------------------------------

        If one asked about the troops of the Inquisition, they would reveal Inquisitor Islington Trevelyan was a polite and amicable man. He cared plenty for his people, working well with his advisors and his Inner Circle. He did what was necessary, making tough decisions throughout the day. His people had seen him come back from the dead, soon after Haven was attacked; to them the Inquisitor was infallible.  

        Inquisitor Trevelyan was an odd looking man. He had shockingly white hair that he kept combed and neat. Yet he was no albino. His skin was darkly tanned, a trait shared by his branch of his family. His irises were an odd yellow, something that only he possessed in his family. A trait that his family had passed off as him having magic when he showed the aptitude for it.

 

        The man was constantly seen running about Skyhold in between missions, talking to various people regardless of their station. Other than being a mage and having an anchor, he seemed to hold some sort of magic about his personality. How he asked and kept track of the various tales some of the soldiers told him, the occasional question if their loved ones had sent letters. The Inquisition’s cause may have won people to it, but it was the Inquisitor himself who won the hearts of many with his slight personal touch.

        There was no magic for that information, just hard work. He met with his Inner Circle frequently, discussing their next move and in between, their people.

        “You know, it’s rather heart-warming to see the Inquisitor try and get to know others during his free time. I think he took my advice to heart,” Varric said with a chuckle as he sat at the tavern drinking.

        “And what advice would that be?” came the smooth but proud reply. The Tevinter smiled as his friend praised his lover. He was a proud man but it was a different sort of pride that came when he thought about Islington. The man had chosen him of all people; not that it was unexpected. Dorian knew how handsome he was, but it was still a surprise when Islington had insisted on a proper relationship.

        “Remember that game of Wicked Grace where Curly lost his clothes? I’m glad he joined us. Sometimes its too easy to see him as a symbol, like Andraste and her bowl. It’s nice to get reminders that he’s still very much a person and I think it’s good that the others see that side of him; not just some sort of figure whose comparable to the legends of old.”

        Dorian barked a laugh at the memory. That had been a delightful evening, in many ways. There was the lovely company but it was a treat for his eyes as well as he recalled Cullen trying to escape with what little dignity he had left. “Quite right Varric. Although as you’ve said before, the amount of shit that he manages to survive does make his tale quite unbelievable.”

        “One day I’m going to write a story about this,” the dwarf said as he took a swing from his mug.

        “Ha, let’s not get ahead of ourselves before Corypheus is dead. Come on Varric, it’s nearly time for us to meet with Josephine for that very important meeting she wants all of us to attend,” Dorian said with a sigh.

        Josephine waited eagerly for them at the war room. The rest of the Inner Circle and Cullen had gathered. She clasped her hands together in delight. “Wonderful, now that everyone is here we can begin.”

        “Now wait a minute, the boss’ not here,” Iron Bull spoke as he took a good look around.

        “Indeed, of all the people I would expect not to be around, the Inquisitor is the last,” Solas said as he folded his arms.

        “Quite indeed,” Leliana said as she stepped into the room closing the door as she gave all those who were gathered a smile. Needless to say, several of the Inner Circle looked uncomfortable.

        “It’s all right she’s not planning...,” Cole began but Leliana shook her head at him.

        “Before we begin speculating as to the reason, let me reassure you that what I am to share is for once, good news, and that this information is not to leave the room. The Inquisitor is not to hear a word about it. Scout Harding has been briefed and she’s keeping the Inquisitor busy while we speak in private.”

        A round of affirmations came from those gathered as the atmosphere became a lot more relaxed. While good news came often as the Inquisition expanded, it was not without its share of bad news and the Spymaster’s words were received with some measure of relief..

        Sera leaned in curiously. “Well out with it already, what sort of news is it that Issy-prissy isn’t supposed to hear?

        The ambassador took a deep breath, shaking her head at the nickname the Inquisitor had been stuck with and smiled at them. “With the Inquisitor’s birthday coming up next week, Lelianna and I were hoping that those of the Inner Circle could throw a surprise birthday party for him.”

        The resulting cacophony was expected. Some burst out into laughter but questions flew about the room as each member turned the idea over in their heads.

        “It's his birthday? That dog he never said a thing about it!”

        “How old is he?”

        There was a fair bit of silence as they tried to piece what information they knew.

        “Well his white hair doesn't exactly do him any favours in looking young. He looks young enough to be in his early thirties but if I had to bet, I’d say late thirties from his maturity,” Varric said as his voice broke the silence.

        There was a slight flipping of pages as Josephine glanced through her notes and smiled as she spoke, “And I’ll gladly take that bet Master Tethras. According to my notes, Islington Trevelyan was born in 9:13 Dragon that would make him twenty-seven after some quick calculation.”

        Solas quietly he mused, one finger on his chin as he thought about it. “That is quite a weight our Inquisitor has on his shoulders for someone his age. Although he has more than measured up to his role.”

        There was some murmur of agreement and somewhere in the back, Varric tossed a silver coin over to Josephine who caught it.

        “Hey, hey we’re here to plan a party for Issy, not count how old he is. Parties are supposed to be fun! We can have games like mud wrestling, pin the cock on the do-”

        Vivienne cleared her throat to interrupt Sera before the girl could continue.

        “My dear, our Inquisitor is of noble blood. I doubt he would play such… uncouth games. A nice dinner with some canapes would be pleasurable and more suitable for a man of his station.”

        The elf growled at the mage, but Blackwall settled an arm on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

        “Sera, this is about Islington’s party. Although I would certainly like to know more about those games you were talking about,” the warden said chuckling. The brief action calmed down the feisty elf, and the room breathed a sigh of relief.

        “Perhaps we should consider what Islington is fond of before we make any more plans,” Cassandra said as she thought about it. “I know he likes things which are black and white, and cats.” There was a longer pause as she thought about it.

        Each of them pondered quietly about what they knew about the inquisitor. One by one they offered what they knew and Josephine diligently scribbled it down. By the end of the hour they had a list.

        “Hmm… from what we have here, it would seem that the best would be just a nice dinner with all of us and perhaps a game or two of Wicked Grace. We definitely need some whiskey about. And those lovely little cakes! This would be wonderful to plan!” The Antivian did a little excited twirl where she was. “Thank you all for coming. There will be a gift presentation of course.”

        With a few more conversations exchanged among the Inquisition's Inner Circle, one by one they went back to their own rooms deep in thought. Leliana glanced out the windows of the war room looking at the lights in a tower. “I wonder how the Inquisitor’s dancing lessons with Harding are going,” she said with a chuckle.


	2. Dancing Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of dancing lessons with Harding and the Chargers, we see another side of the Inquisitor and his inner thoughts

        Scout Harding took a deep breath when the Spymaster asked her to distract the Inquisitor for an hour or two while the others planned for Islington’s birthday party. She had just been given the task but that was about it. It was up to her to plan how exactly she wanted to settle this. The dwarf wandered into the tavern looking about for some ideas. It was a quiet late afternoon, with a few soldiers and others hanging about. Cabot was wiping at the mugs with a cloth, cleaning it though it didn't need to be clean. Harding gave a wave to him as she entered, and gave a pause when she saw some of the Chargers standing in front of the notice she had posted ages ago.

        Woops, she had probably get down to holding those dancing classes. As the thought flitted through her mind, she stuck upon an idea. Of course! With that she sent a note to Leliana on her plan.

        “All right Chargers I have a mission for you and it is of utmost importance,” Harding spoke hoping to convey the seriousness of the task in her voice. “And it involves our Inquisitor.”

        “I'm all ears Harding. Although it's usually the Inquisitor who comes with us for missions,” Krem said as he sat up in his chair. The rest of the Chargers who were around stopped their work and looked over with interest.

        “Sister Leliana wants us to make sure the Inquisitor is occupied while she talks to the Inner Circle. His birthday is coming up. So I'll need your help in making this convincing. I'm going to tell the Inquisitor that I'll need some help teaching you lot how to dance. And that's the mission. It'll be fun. What do you say?”

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------

        “Harding, this is hardly the sort of thing I would call ‘of Extreme Importance’. I have a lot of paperwork to finish up and you’re interrupting my work,” Islington said with a mildly irritated tone as he looked at his scout as he made air quotes with his fingers.

        The dwarf was too familiar with him at times. Harding has just knocked and then barged in asking for help and she had just clarified what she needed help with. The dwarven lass clasped both her hands together and beamed widely at the Inquisitor, her freckled face giving him the oh so adorable puppy eyes. She had planted her elbows right on top his stack of papers, preventing him from doing anything anyway.

        “Please Inquisitor? I promised the Chargers and there’s far too many of them for little old me to handle all by myself for a first lesson. Not to mention we all saw you dance at the Ball. No one can get that good without a passion for it. Especially not someone from the Circle.”

        “Flattery will get you nowhere Scout Harding,” the man said with a laugh. “All right all right. Let me tidy up least the wind blows my papers away. While I wouldn’t mind the lesser work, Josephine would have my head for losing any of these.”

        “Flattery works every time Your Worship.”

        “Imp.”

        Truth be told, it was a welcomed break. Islington loved to dance and it was a passion he had to practice in secret at the Circle. To allow his mind to be free and immerse himself into the music. When he was younger, before his magic developed, he enjoyed his dancing lessons with his siblings. Some of them preferred to spend their free time sparring with blades, or studying the Chant, but not Islington. The man was a born artiste, his feet moved deftly from one side of the room to the other in a fluid manner. His mother had even requested he perform for some of their guests during their balls. All that came to a stop at twelve when his magical abilities developed.

        He thought he had forgotten his steps until Josephine invited him to try again in order to practice for the ball. It had taken a few moments but that had been a magical day for him when his feet found the music to dance with once more. He and Dorian enjoyed an hour of dancing together and then they had to stop for the Tevinter had tired out from his lover’s energy. Islington on the other hand, was ready for more. It had come as a shock to some to see the Inquisitor that happy and so in his element. Varric had compared him to a caged bird being set free.

        “I’ll meet you at the South Tower Harding. Get the Chargers ready. I just need a change of clothes and then I’ll be ready.”

        “As you wish Your Worship.”

        He heard the pattering of her feet as she left and the man shook his head chuckling a little to himself before he went over to his wardrobe. He needed to be in something less formal for the dance lesson. Taking off his gloves, he ran his fingers over the mark, frowning a little as he touched the rough creases that glowed when he was near a rift.

        It glowed briefly and Islington grimaced, but the pain was gone as soon as it had come. It wasn’t too bad, not as horrible as it had been when the breach had been open but it still ached once in awhile. So far he had been successful in hiding the pain when it struck. The mage shook his hand, as if shaking would cause the anchor and pain to fall off and leave him free of it.

        Busy as he was, he appreciated it. It gave him something to do, something to focus his mind on after his delegation to the Conclave had perished. ‘No need to focus on such dark thoughts Islington. You have a dance lesson to conduct,’ he thought to himself.

        Rummaging through his wardrobe, he pulled out a simple white tunic, and some black linen trousers. Now for the gloves. He was always fond of gloves before receiving the Mark. It gave him a better grip on his staff, and he liked keeping his hands warm. Although with the Mark, it was less of a fashion statement, and more of a way to hide the worsening of his hand from his comrades. They had enough on their minds without needing to worry about his mark. That was his burden to bear alone.

        His hand brushed against a pair of leathery black gloves, made from the hide of a wyvern, but covered with soft down on the insides. They were his favourite. A gift from his younger brother on passing his Harrowing. The inquisitor paused for a bit as he held the gloves tenderly, smiling softly at its sentimental value and the memories it brought before he slipped them on. The glow of the mark shone through it, but it always did.

        Stopping once in front of the mirror, the noble mage checked his attire and adjusted his hair. Once he was pleased with his appearance, he stepped out of his quarters, looking no fancier than any of his soldiers.

        He slipped into the side door, going past Josephine’s office down towards the kitchen to head to the South Tower. There was a brief bit of panic as he stepped through the main hall, worried that some other noble might grab him and stop him for a chat. Idle chit chat and pandering to nobles was Josephine’s specialty, not his.

        A wave was given to the cook’s assistants as he breezed through and soon he was up upon the cool ramparts heading towards the Tower.

        The Chargers were gathered together and Harding was there. It was quite an amusing sight to see the crew looking so clueless for once. Out on the battlefield they were in their element but here, with a dancing lesson, even Krem looked uncertain.

        “Are you certain that they want dancing lessons Harding? They look as if you’ve coerced them into agreeing to this,” Islington teased.

        “Oh no Your Worship, we’re here by our own free will. Isn’t that right boys?” Krem reassured before turning to look at the rest of the Chargers who cheered in response. “We’re just not very good with dancing. It doesn’t involve killing something or finding something. But the Chargers will see it through. Plus it’ll help us blend in better in the future among the nobles.”

        Islington took a long hard look at the dwarves, elves and humans gathered.

        “Blend in, right. Well let’s get started. How much do you-” he cut himself short when he remembered that he was supposed to assist Harding rather than do everything himself. It was a bad habit that he had.

        “My apologies Harding, old habits die hard.”

        “Don’t worry about it Your Worship,” the dwarven lady replied good naturedly. She seemed more amused than anything at the idea of Islington leading a dance lesson.

        “If it’s all right with everyone, I’d rather you just call me Islington during these session. I’m not here as the Inquisitor after all, but as a dance assistant,” he he said with a smile, trying to ease the others, and perhaps himself. It had been months but he still felt uncomfortable wearing the title of the Inquisitor in informal settings.

        Skinner, Stitches and Krem proved to be fairly adept on their feet, and after a few rough starts, they were capable of moving in an Orlesian waltz together. While their pacing was off, at least they were not stepping on each other’s toes. On the other hand, Rocky and Dalish were having a lot of trouble. Rocky mostly because he kept complaining that his partner was too tall; but even when Harding took Dalish’ place, Rocky was just plain clumsy and kept stepping on his partner’s feet.

        The real surprise though was Grim. The man still spoke only in grunts but he twirled, flounced and danced as agile as a cat. Islington raised an eyebrow, half wondering if the man had training prior to this. He could pick out several styles. There was definitely a bit of Antivian in his gestures, yet his footwork and pacing were like those of the commoners in Feralden when they held massive dances. Yet he could not pinpoint the man’s exact style. It wasn’t long before Harding recruited Grim to help Rocky and Dalish with their steps. Particularly Rocky.

        After an hour and a half, the lesson ended. Harding had seen Cassandra and Bull come out of the Keep, from where she stood, and the mission had been a success. She would have ended it earlier, but there was a certain light in Islington’s eyes as he guided the Chargers in their dance steps.

        “Thank you for inviting me for this Harding… I… I do appreciate it. It’s honestly been a while since I could dance so freely,” Islington said once the lesson had ended and the Chargers had dispersed.

        “And I’m going to need a foot massage later on. Rocky really trod down hard on my toes. The next time I’m holding a dance class, I’m going to wear my boots. At least those provide some armour,” Lace said with a grimace.

        Islington laughed some.

        “I could tell! Part of me wanted to help you but then I thought… nah Harding can handle it,” he said with a smirk.

        “Your Worship, you can be a real bastard at times.”

        “I know, but still… care to have one dance with me Lace? The two of us have been working hard both in our duties and as dance instructors. It would be nice to dance with someone of skill, even if it was just for a short while. That and I’ve never danced with a dwarf before,” Islington said offering a hand to her.

        Harding giggled. “Wouldn’t Dorian get jealous?”

        “I doubt he would be, given that we are quite secure about our relationship. Besides, take it as my way of saying thanks for the opportunity to indulge myself in one of my hobbies.”

        As Harding accepted Islington’s gloved hand, the two friends danced one movement into the night and parted shortly once it ended, feeling better and more relaxed, and above all, ready to face the coming days.


	3. The hand of a friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening takes an odd and quiet dramatic turn, with Islington showing a side of him to his close companions that few witnessed. A chat with Solas and Dorian rounds up this chapter.
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

        Dancing lessons over, Islington wanted to head back to his quarters but thought better about it. There were two people he wanted to see before the day was over. Guessing that he was not needed… Or at least he hoped so. It was nice to get some time to himself. Despite his presence, Islington was a private and introverted man. Time to his books was needed but it was only when he could spare time. He was glad that while on missions, his companions kept to themselves as well. Once in awhile there would be words traded but for the most part, they saved their energy for fights. He had learned who could work together and who couldn't. 

        Islington made his way to the rotunda. A new mural was in progress by Solas. The elven apostate had surprised everyone with his skill of the brush and the Inquisition had been more than happy to give him the room to chronicle their history. The elf in question was hunched over several buckets of paint, working on the upper tiers of the scaffold. He had the outlines done and Islington craned his neck a little to make out the details. 

        It was their latest adventure at the Winter Palace, where they had foiled the assassination attempt on Empress Celene and had reconciled her and Briala. At least he thought it was that. The figure in the centre wore a collar like the Empress but colour had yet to be filled in. He could make out the pencil tracings where Solas had done his sketches.

        Even though Islington could not see the elf’s face, he knew it would be furrowed in deep thought and concentration. It had happened so often that the Inquisitor had joked Solas was going to be wrinkled before he turned fifty.

        “Solas? I'm coming up,” he called out at the bottom of the scaffold before he climbed up the ladder.

        The elf didn't respond straight away, but made to put the finishing touches to the section before dabbing his brushes. Islington sat nearby admiring his skill, waiting patiently for the other to speak.

        “What do you need my friend?” Solas asked with a smile. The Inquisitor was the only one in Skyhold who had earned that title. Solas had intended to seek the Inquisitor out, mostly to try and suss out what would be a suitable birthday present for his friend. While he had some ideas, he still liked to be sure and it had been ages since he last gave anyone a gift in that manner.

        Islington peeled his left glove off, revealing the mark. The skin was coarse where the split began, darkened in ways that looked like burns beside the glow.

        “I think it's gotten a little worse from using it to seal the rifts,” Islington said with a slight smile… But it was a forced smile, more to reassure his friend that he was all right. Inside he was terrified at the thought of it. His noble upbringing, short as it was, had taught him how to hide his true feelings.

        As the Inquisitor removed his glove, Solas’ smile remained, but it faltered as he saw the condition of the hand. He gently took the other’s hand, caressing it gently. He knew the deterioration would start again but he hadn't expected it to be that soon. A few more months perhaps, he would have to revise his estimation. 

        “When did it start getting worse Islington? How has the pain been?” He asked, brows furrowing as he looked into those golden eyes of his friend. He had seen them before but where… It was a question he would have to think about for later.

        “It started to act up while we were in the Emerald Graves. The pain isn't too bad but I figured you should take a look at it… Just in case. You do know more about it than any of us.”

        Solas nodded his head as he listened. “A wise choice indeed. Let me take a better look.”

        Islington saw the other mage’s magic flare up. Rather he felt it. At that moment, a jolt ran through his hand though it caused no pain. Visually, the glow brightened then faded.

        Overhead, Fiona peered over the rails, curious on the going-ons. The other mages who felt the rise in magic looked over with some curiosity as well, though one of them was more concerned than the rest.

        “That should help for now.”

        “What did you do?”

        “I've stabilised it again for now. It had been building and gathering power since I last treated your hand. I merely released the excess energy back into the Fade.”

        Islington clenched his left fist and opened it several times, testing it. The skin and the mark looked no different, but he could feel it settling down, like a great beast who had just fed and was going to rest.

        “Thank you Solas. I wish I knew more about it to treat it myself,” Islington said with a sigh.

        “Think nothing of it Islington. I'm happy to help. Is there anything else you might need?”

        “Not at the moment Solas, although I must admit that I love watching your work come alive. It must have taken years to reach your level of skill,” Islington said, falling back on old habits, focusing on things around him to distract the attention from himself.

        “Very well, although I do have a question for you.”

        “What is it?”

        There was a slight pause from the elven mage, then he spoke. “Do you think I should use a light or darker colour for the background.”

        Islington blinked at the oddness of the question. “I'm not sure if I'm the right person to be asking on this Solas,” he said gesturing to his attire. He was positively monochromatic. White hair, tanned skin, white shirt, black pants, boots and gloves. “Although if I have to choose, I'd say dark but give it a splash of light in some areas.”

        A few more pleasantries were exchanged before Islington slid down the ladder to head towards his quarters. There was a lot of work to be done and he preferred doing it alone at his desk.

        He had positioned it so he could see who entered and had decorated it with tiny porcelain cat figurines. Gifts he had received from his family over the years. He rarely saw them, save at the occasional ball or holiday. That was one good thing he had as a noble in Ostwick Circle. Few other mages had the luck of being allowed outside and remaining in contact with their families.

        Admittedly, it wasn't just his noble blood. His younger brother, Quentin, had been a Templar in the circle. Their isolated lives bonded them together, but it also reminded them that there was always family about. Usually family members could not serve at the circle, but a few palms had been greased by his parents, a few favours called upon and his mother had her way.

        Islington picked up a small tuxedo cat, toying with it in his hand when he heard his door open, followed by some familiar footsteps. A smile crossed his lips as he sat up eagerly awaiting the arrival of the person.

        “Amatus? Do you have a moment?” 

        The light honeyed voice made his heart flutter.  _ Amatus _ . He loved being called that. 

        “I'm here Dorian, and for you I always have time.”

        “Oh good, I was hoping I could catch you to talk to you about the decor around your room. They're still rather appalling. Black and white all over. Have you no sense of colour coordination? And no a little drab of yellow and red here and there does not count. You should let me and Vivienne handle the decor from now on.”

        Islington bristled a little at the Altus’ complains. While the man was fond of criticising things, there was a tone in his voice that suggested that this was a prelude to the storm that was about to break.

        “All right Dorian, what is it?” he said with a resigned sigh, resting his head in his hand as he looked at his lover. 

        Dorian paused and was about to continue his tirade when he realised how tired Islington looked as he crossed the room. The late evening sun shone through the Dalish windows, casting their brilliant colours onto the carpeted floor. White carpet, but at least it gave some colour to the room. Even he grew tired at the Inquisitor’s insistence of being monochromatic. The Altus’ expression softened a little.

        “Are you all right Islington? I couldn't help but overhear you and Solas just now. Why didn't you tell me? I have contacts in the Magisterium. They might know something about your Anchor and help you as well.”

        “Dorian, you and I both know that it would be futile. Solas is our foremost expert and even he isn't sure about it. And he's seen what it can do, and even theorised and confirmed that it could seal rifts. Look I know you're angry that I didn't tell you but… It's really nothing. Just like a minor burn. It'll heal in time.” The Inquisitor’s voice was steady and neutral in its tone. Each word and its cadence chosen carefully before he spoke. It gave him the air of confidence to those who knew him superficially. But to those who knew him intimately, who had been by his side long enough, knew it was a telltale sign of his emotional state. He even sat up straighter.

        “Don't you tell me that it is nothing! You're doing that again! Going cold and speaking carefully. I hate it when you do that. It makes me feel like you don't trust me with your feelings! Amatus, you don't have to hide from me.”

        The Tevinter lunged forward across the table to take hold of Islington’s hand and he slowly slipped the glove off to touch the bare skin. Islington jerked back a little out of reflex but allowed the touch, though he looked away as Dorian carefully examined the hand. It looked no different than before, although the glow was somewhat subdued. The blackened skin was present but the glow looked less menacing than it had been an hour before. He gently traced his fingers over the hardened skin, frowning at it. It struck him how cold the Inquisitor’s hands were. While Islington specialised in ice magic, this was the coldest he had ever been. Slight trembles shook through both his hands.

        ‘He’s scared… terrified,’ thought Dorian as realisation struck him. He raised the man’s hand to kiss it gently before looking up at his lover. 

        The sight shocked him a little. Here was the brave and mighty Inquisitor crying. The usually stoic man was showing a vulnerable emotion. There were tears streaming down the side of his cheek as he looked out at the balcony, away from Dorian. He reached up tenderly with his thumb to wipe away the tears. 

        “Amatus…” he started quietly, regretting the feisty words he had spoken earlier. 

        “Don’t Dorian… please… I… I need to compose myself,” Islington insisted as he withdrew himself. It was an action he actually had some difficulty with for at that moment, Dorian enveloped him into a hug pulling him close.

        “It’s all right Amatus, if you need to cry, cry. I’m here,” he reassured the man.

        It had been a strange day indeed… a cheery afternoon spent and yet it had taken such a quiet and foreboding turn in the late evening behind closed doors. Perhaps he need not worry about a gift. For it seemed he was giving the Inquisitor a gift that few could: a shoulder to cry on. There were so many questions he had in mind, so many things he wanted to ask, but he knew now was not the time. His Amatus needed him and it was the least he could do. 


	4. Of Jennies and Wardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall and Sera spend some time together, trying to get a gift for the Inquisitor. A very short chapter, but don't worry there'll be a second part to theirs.
> 
> I apologise if Sera isn't as well written as I would like. I'm not too good with capturing her cockney manners.  
> Also kudos to those who get the reference I sneaked in.

        Blackwall flicked a dagger on the target trying to get at the centre. Sera sat nearby on a wall, rocking her legs back and forth, laughing at her friend. The two had finished discussing the games Sera was familiar earlier. The conversation had provided much amusement to the older man.

        “You pisshead, I've seen grandmothers who throw better than that!” Sera teased as she took a sip of her drink.

        The warden growled a little at his friend’s jibe. “Well I don't exactly have your arrows to tell me which direction the wind is blowing,” he scowled good-naturedly gambling on his friend’s cognitive state.

        “Well yeah but you have a beard. Didn't you say it tingles every time a cake is being made or something?” Sera counted laughing. “Why can't it tell where the wind’s blowing then?”

        “That's cause it's only tuned to detecting darkspawn and pastries. Years of warden training does that for you. You don't need the wind to stab a darkspawn with a sword.” There was a slight pause following that sentence. “You do realise that knife throwing has nothing to do with the wind right Sera?”

        “No… Yeah… Piss off arseface I've already drunk more than you!” The girl protested and threw her empty mug at the warden.

        Blackwall ducked with practiced ease, he had seen that coming. The mug flew and hit the wall behind the target, shattering into pieces. A hearty laugh came from the warden’s throat. “Well even drunk Sera, your aim is good… If the target was the wall.”

        Sera scowled in return. “Yeah it was a wall, a black wall.”

        “Oh good one Sera,” the man said chuckling figuring he had pressed his luck far enough. “How about I buy you a drink to replace that one?”

        “You already bought me one to tell you how to play Pin the Cock on the Donkey… But I’ll take a drink yeah?” Sera said, her mood changing. Then again she wasn't truly angry with Blackwall. The warden was one of her closer friends around the fortress. The only other close friend she had was Islington. The two of them just got her somehow.

        They headed out through the stable doors towards the stairs heading up to the upper levels of Skyhold. Soldiers and civilians were milling about the area. Vendors called out at the passerbys, hawking their wares.

        “Cabbages! Fresh cabbages! All the way from the famed Basin of Se!”

        “Amulets, rings, get your charms! A necklace for your loved ones! An enchanted amulet guaranteed to bring you better health! Or for better speed!”

        Skyhold had become a sort of mini hub for trading. Traders like Bonny Sims had helped the increase in commerce along with the Inquisition’s expansion. Together with their diplomatic ties, Skyhold was quickly becoming the place to be for many people. The centre of the fight, the stronghold of the Inquisition, a trading hub, a place where one could expect well-trained mounts and weaponry. Scholars and mages sought refuge at it during the war, for it was one place where they knew knowledge was welcomed. After all, to defeat Corypheus, the more they knew, the better prepared they were.

        The cries of the merchants caused Blackwall and Sera to pause in their step as they recalled the meeting earlier today.

        “I haven't got a clue what to get him. The last time, I tried baking cookies. It didn't turn out that well, but he still ate them with me on the rooftop all the same,” Sera said as she took a look around. “Think a porcelain cock might be a nice present to him?”

        “Sera, a porcelain cock would be a nice present for you. Although you'd probably use it for target practice. Islington’s a lot more… Like a noble in that. He likes his finery. Have you seen those tiny porcelain cats he has on his table and his clothing?”

        “Oohh yes,” the girl said with a giggle. “They're so cute. Do you think one of the merchants might have those? It would be a good present.”

        “Maybe, or we could get something for his horse. A new comb might be a good idea.”

        “For him or the horse?”

        “Eh… Who knows?” The warden said with a shrug. They both knew Islington could be quite the fop. Despite his busy schedule, he was always seen handling his appearance with care. They had teased him about it. Even in the wilds, he woke early to comb and tend to his appearances before the day watch began.

        Sera snorted a little. “I don't think he'll care if we got him a horse comb, I think he just appreciated things right? Ain't easy to find a nob who’d play pranks with you or just listen. Oh oh! Do you think we should play a prank on him as a gift?”

        Blackwall paused and looked at the elven archer sternly. “Sera, I'm a warden, we don't do pranks. We’re a proud and dignified order.”

        The elven lass glanced at her best friend looking dejected. There was a slight pause.

        “Although a comb with some black hair dye wouldn’t be called a prank. Maybe just… a suggestion to him to look younger.”

        There was that chuckling snort as Sera spotted some combs on sale, and pulled her friend towards it. The strong warrior lurched forward with the eager girl. They spent quite a while before they picked out a comb.

        “Oooohhh this is going to be great. I can see it now. Him getting the comb yeah?”

        “Yes?”

        “Then we convince him to try it out and then he gets a black streak! He’ll look just like a skunk!”

        Blackwall couldn’t help but roar with laughter at that. “Never change Sera. I think he’d like this one.”

        He reached for one made from the horn of a druffalo, turning it about in his hand. Bonny Sims looked up at the warden. “Ah, this might interest you, the style is just like the ones you can get from the Free Marches,” the trader said as she gestured to the wares.

        The mention of the Free Marches made Blackwall raise an eyebrow. “I think we’ll take this one,” he said as he handed a few coins over. Sera giggled and took the comb.

        “That’s your gift to the Inquisitor Sera, not mine.”

        “What do you mean?”

        “I’m going to give him something else, and you’re going to help me get it ready since I paid for your present.”

        “What? But I thought we were going to give it together.”

        “We still can, but I think I know something else Islington would like, and it’s going to involve some grease and cheese.”

        “You’re daft but okay, I’m in.”

        “Good come on, I’ll show you what I mean.”

        “Just a minute, I want to look at something…”

        Blackwall turned back and strode through the tiny market place towards his stables without a word more. Sera had gotten distracted by a few other trinkets and by the time she realised Blackwall had gone off, he was halfway across the market.

        The girl tore after him, rushing past the cabbage seller, causing his cart to fall over, and for the cabbages to bounce and roll about on the cobbled stones.

        “My cabbages!” the man cried in despair.


	5. Kitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Cullen and Cassandra's turn to find a gift.

        Cassandra stood in Cullen’s office as the two of them spoke.

        “I'm honestly not sure who I can speak with on this Cullen,” the Seeker spoke when Cullen finished reading a report.

        “About what Cassandra? You know you can always come to me about suggestions for our army.”

        “Not that, it has to do with the Inquisitor’s birthday. I'm uncertain of what he might like as a gift. Gift giving is not really my forte.”

        The blonde commander stared at her for a moment.

        “And you think I might have a better idea of what to give him?! Why don't you ask Dorian… Or Varric? They would know better than me.”

        Cassandra gave a slight hrmph noise. “Well yes… But I was hoping you might know. I don't want to give either of them the satisfaction that I had to approach them for help. They'll rub it in my face in the days to come.”

        “Personally I rather have them rub it in my face than give Islington a gift he doesn't like. I was planning on asking Varric anyway. I'd be happy if you wanted to accompany me,” the commander offered knowing how much pride Cassandra had.

        “Very well Cullen… And thank you,” she said with a slight smile.

        The two warriors made their way across the rampart towards the main hall. As they went past the rotunda, they saw Solas hunched over his books, deep in thought. Their dwarven friend was always near the hearth, running through letter after letter from the Merchant’s guild… Or running some game of Wicked Grace with the nobles, conning them out of their coins. At times he was writing.

        Today was no different. Varric was busy folding a letter into a paper dog. There were already several of them sitting in front him.

        “Trying to build a whole pack Varric?” Cullen asked tilting his head a little at the canines.

        “Curly it's good to see you. What brings you down from your tower? Seeker,” he said greeting the two of them.

        “May we take a seat Varric. We have something we’d like to talk to you.”  
The two warriors pulled chairs out and sat next to the dwarf.

        “All right what is it? I doubt you're here to admire the dwarf although I would gladly oblige if you were,” Varric spoke with a smile as his fingers worked the deft folds of the letter.

        Cassandra, ever headstrong, spoke first. “Well Varric, Cullen and I were just talking about how you might be able to help us with a slight… Problem that we have.”

        Varric grimaced wondering if it was something illegal. His dealings with the Carta had left him on the pessimistic side. He doubted it would be given that this was Cassandra and Cullen, two of the straightest people he knew. If there was a complex knot that needed to be untied, Cassandra and Cullen were the sort who would rather stick a sword through it than go about tugging at the strings to figure out how to undo it.

        “We were wondering if you could suggest what we could give Islington. We’re not entirely good at coming up with ideas for what he might like,” the commander said with a rather sheepish expression.

        Varric smiled a little. “And so you come to me, of course I'm happy to help,” came the smug reply as he looked at both warriors. “Why don't you get him a kitten? He's quite fond of cats and they're fairly independent enough that he can go on trips. I'll tell the rest if you're getting him one so he doesn't end up with too many.” A few more folds were done and a four legged creature was starting to appear.

        “A kitten? One of those fluffy…” Cassandra trailed off as she thought about the idea. “I think I quite like that idea Varric."

        “Maker’s breath don't we already have enough cats around Skyhold?”

        “Now now Curly it's one thing to have cats around, it's another to have an affectionate pet to come home to… Plus I heard they're good for morale. Not that our inquisitor needs it but it might help… That or Bull can load it into a catapult when we face Corypheus.”

        The last sentence caught the two audiences completely off guard, with vastly different reactions. Cassandra broke into laughter while Cullen stared horrified at the dwarf.

        “Catapults are not to be used for entertainment Varric,” Cullen rebuked.  
“And that's why you're not in charge of morale. But think about it. Of course you could just go the lazy way and get him a porcelain cat or some gloves. He'll be happy either way.”

        Varric finished folding the papers to form a rather nice looking origami cat, placing it in front of his friends and grinned at them.

        “And what are you getting him Varric?” Cassandra asked as she glanced at the origami cat then at the dwarf.

        “I'll never tell. But you'll see on the day itself,” the dwarven fiend said knowing how it would infuriate his friend as he got up laughing.

        The seeker gave him an annoyed look but refrained from saying anything else.

        “Thank you Varric,” Cullen said for the both of them before turning to look at Cassandra. “I suppose we could see about getting him a kitten. I think I overheard one of the kitchen staff mentioning that a mother had her litter a few weeks back. They would be old enough soon to be separated.”

        Cassandra raised an eyebrow at Cullen at his knowledge of cat husbandry. “I'm amused you know so much about cats Commander. You always struck me as a dog person.”

        “I do prefer dogs Cassandra, but it doesn't mean I know nothing about other animals,” he said as he stood up.  
The two of them headed to the kitchen where several of the staff were preparing the evening meals. Though they looked up when the commander came in. While seeing the Inquisitor run through the kitchens had become a common sight, a visit from either warriors was quite rare.

        “Afternoon Commander, Seeker Pentaghast. What can I do for you today?” the head cook asked as she wiped flour off her hands with a towel and went over to the visitors. The others continued their work, although some edged a little closer or found something to do within hearing range.

        “I was told that there were some kittens that might need a new home. We were thinking of getting one for the Inquisitor,” Cullen spoke with a smile.

        “Nadine! The commander wants to see the cats!” The head cook called through the noise. A young elven girl stopped cleaning the pots and went over. “Yes sir, right this way sir. Tammy just had a litter a few weeks back. They're growing into spritely young kittens. They've already opened their eyes and it's a lovely blue colour.”

        She chattered as she led the warriors towards a corner in the kitchen cellar. In a box turned on its side, the mother cat was nursing her babies. They were all sorts of colours. It was a fairly small litter, about three of them as the kittens milled about.

        “I was hoping that one would be black and white but they're… Mostly ginger,” Cullen said with a sigh as he examined the kittens. One was bright orange, the other had a mottled coat that tortoise-shelled cats had. The last one was a mixture of brown and white.

        The two of them observed the kittens before Nadine chimed in. “I'd recommend the one over there sir,” she said pointing at the tortoise-shell. “Seems rather affectionate to visitors and has a mild personality so far.”

        Cullen looked to Cassandra who shrugged. Somehow the decision had fallen to him even though they both were going to share the gift. The commander crouched close to the box, reaching one hand out, to see if the kittens responded. True to the elven lass’ words, the mottled kitten padded over and licked at the man’s outstretched fingers, trying to get some milk as it tried to suckle. The other two seemed more aloof but as nothing seemed dangerous, came over soon enough.

        It wasn't long before the kittens were mewling around Cullen’s hand. A glance was given to Cassandra. “What do you think?”

        “I think it's quite a change to see you being gentle with kittens than soldiers but I suppose we could take her suggestion. We’ll pick it up next week. We might be able to get a collar for it… maybe reuse one of the old amulets or just find one from the merchants… Actually I think we have a collar somewhere in our inventory. The Inquisitor picked it up at Griffon Wing Keep.”

        Satisfied that the cat would be a good choice, they headed over to the Undercroft. Cassandra rummaged through the chests before she pulled out a narrow leather band, embossed with a design popular in Honnleath some years ago. She plucked off some orange fur caught on the buckle of the collar.

        “I'm quite glad that our Inquisitor is a stickler for organisation. I don't think I could find anything if he didn't insist that we place everything we collect properly,” Cassandra said with a chuckle. “I will clean this up by next week. You will handle the cat and it's necessary belongings.”

        Cullen nodded his head before he realised he was being saddled with the larger responsibility.

        “Cassandra you can't just lump me with that!”

        “Watch me,” the woman said with a smile before she walked out before the Commander could say anything else.

        Cullen growled a little before he went to find Josephine to help him out. Maybe he could bribe her with a week of desserts. Eventually, with a lot of pleading, he got the necessary litter box and even a little bed for the kitten.

        When he picked the kitten up a week later, the Commander held it by the scruff of its neck and glared at it right in the eyes. “You owe me.”

        “Meow.”


	6. Culture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, continuation from where we left Sera and Blackwall.

        It wasn't too hard to get cheese wheels but the trouble was finding suitable grease. 

        “What do you need them for Blackwall?”

        “Well, the Inquisitor’s from Ostwick. Over there they butter up a cheese about the size of a small wagon wheel and see how far they can run with it.”

        “That sounds daft as anything. I’d just eat the cheese.”

        “Well its culture Sera,” the Warden said with a smile. 

        “Well culture can get in my mouth,” the Jenny said as she stuck her tongue out at her best friend. Blackwall broke into a laugh at that as they searched around the market for some grease.

        There was the grease from the blacksmith but figuring they might want to eat the cheese later… or at least someone might try, it was better to use something from the kitchen. After a bit of haggling with the head cook, Blackwall and Sera walked away with a slab of butter. 

        “Well with the comb and the cheese, I think Issy-Prissy would feel like he was at home… or at least home… something,” Sera said as she lugged the cheese wheel, setting it down at the stables. The wax covering it protected the dairy product well enough. Sera pressed her fingers against it, and found the surface pliable enough to leave prints. 

        “Let me go and find somewhere to properly stash the butter,” Blackwall said.

        When he returned, the Jenny was having a giggling fit over the cheese. 

        “What… did you do to the cheese?” he said as he walked over, raising one eyebrow as he approached with trepidation. A few ideas jumped about in his head on what Sera might have done, but he went with the most possible choice. 

        “Oh Sera, he’ll love it,” he said as he laughed as he saw what she had done. It wasn’t as crude as he thought it would be. The elven girl had used an arrowhead to draw a beautiful flowery design on the wax. 

        “I think if we get a bit of other coloured wax, we can actually make it look really pretty and he’ll like it even more yeah?” she said with a grin. 

        Now this was an idea he could get behind and while Sera worked on the outlines, Blackwall sourced about for the spent candles. The two friends worked through the night, or rather Sera did while Blackwall just helped once in awhile. By second watch though, Blackwall had dozed off on a haystack, but Sera continued working hard at her masterpiece. 

        The sound of the cockerels sounded through Skyhold before the sun rose. Blackwall opened his eyes and yawned. Morning already? It had just been awhile ago that he was watching Sera work on the cheese. Turning a little to his left, he found her curled up with a grin on her face on another haystack. 

        Dawn would come soon enough and once there was enough light, the man got up to take a look at the cheese wheel. His eyes widened in pleasant surprise. Sera had decorated it with flowers and leaves using pink and green wax, with the occasional red flowers. It was a fairly beautiful piece of artwork, far different than the doodles she had in her journal. In his opinion, it could even pass off as a nicely decorated cake. The Inquisitor had a fondness for pretty things, and it was a nice personalised touch to his original plan. Now he felt awful that they were going to run it down a hill, but at the same time, he felt fairly proud of his friend’s work. 

        The warden had come to see the girl as a daughter of sorts, although it was an odd friendship. He had some paternal feelings but at the same time, she was his drinking buddy. She was a friend whom he could share crude jokes with, and the two of them plotted odd ways by which nobles with a stick up their arse would get their just desserts.

        Taking a horse blanket, he draped it over the girl tenderly before he strode over to the kitchens to get them some breakfast.


	7. Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan finally comes together

        On the day of the Inquisitor’s birthday itself, Solas had volunteered to keep Islington busy until the preparations were ready, under the pretext of helping him further his studies of rift magic. It worked for their benefit either way. Islington was always asking about the fade, and his natural curiosity endeared him to the elven apostate. Furthermore, it helped Islington to better understand the mark he wielded, and to gain a better mastery over its use. Solas conducted his lesson in the Mage Tower and had invited a few mages to observe and learn more about the fade.

        Back in the War Room, Josephine and Vivienne were directing the Chargers and Bull about as they decorated the place. Flowers went into some corners, chairs were pulled in. The table was soon turned into a giant dining table, large enough to fit all of the Inner Circle, Chargers and Harding.

        “Everything has to be just right,” Josephine insisted as the tablecloth and cutlery were laid out.

        “Relax Josie, it’s supposed to be a relaxing time for once for us all,” Leliana said with a laugh. Sometimes her friend could get too neck-deep in procedure that she forgot to relax.

        “Nightingale’s right you know Ruffles. It’s going to be just fine,” Varric said with a smile. “The decorations are in place, everyone’s excited and waiting. The gifts are ready. It’ll be fine.”

        Reassured, Josephine nodded her head with a sigh as she examined the room. Honestly it did seem all right. Once everything was in place, they drew the curtains to darken the room. Harding was the designated one to call Solas and the Inquisitor into the room.

 

* * *

 

        “Now this technique is what we’ve called Veilstrike. Essentially, we draw upon the essence of the Fade to recreate your fist to strike it into the ground. Given that our world is connected to the Fade, you bend reality a little to create a pressurised area over your enemies,” Solas continued, explaining to some of the Mages who had gathered. “Of course it requires tremendous amount of fortitude and willpower to be able to grasp the essence of the Fade, and a few years of training. Perhaps at the start you may just cast it at an area no larger than your actual palm. Do not fret if you’re unable to.”

        The elf spied Harding heading towards the door. The woman paused for a bit, trying to put on her best serious look, hoping not to sell the game too early. “Are there any questions?”

        “Um… yes Messere Solas, how is it that the Inquisitor is able to use the Veil so effortlessly.”

        “I’m afraid that is due to the nature of the Anchor in my hand. It definitely makes it easier to manipulate the Veil as it is always a part of me. I would have to go through years of training just to get to the current level of mastery I have over the Fade. No doubt without it, I would be just where you are,” Islington said with a smile.

        There were some discussion among the mages but before another question could be asked, Harding came in through the door. “Inquisitor! The Spymaster wants to see you and Solas right away. She says it’s fairly important.”

        “I’m afraid further questions would have to wait until later, it seems that there’s matters we must attend to. Thank you for coming,” Trevelyan said as he tidied the place up a little before turning to Harding. “Very well lead the way.”

        The human, the elf and the dwarf headed towards the War Room. It could almost have been a joke if Harding hadn’t looked so serious. Once he knew that they were heading to the War Room, the Inquisitor took the lead, striding with purpose through the corridors. He pushed open the doors to the room with both hands.

        “I’m here Leliana what seems to be the-” It then occurred to him that the room was awfully dark.

        “SURPRISE!”

        The curtains were drawn back to reveal his closest friends standing around the table, smiling warmly at him. There was cake, several plates laid out along with a few other dishes. The kitchen had certainly put in quite a bit of effort on their part.

        Trevelyan blinked at the sudden change in brightness, and at what he saw.

        “What’s going on? What’s all this for?” he demanded, looking at his friends in confusion. Now it was their turn to be surprised.

        “You really don’t know Snowflake?” Varric voiced out their current thoughts as they looked at each other and smiled. “What’s today’s date?”

        Islington paused as he mentally did a count. “It’s the twenty-seventh day of Justinian… Oh…. OH!” He looked at his friends rather sheepishly as the significance of the day hit him.

        “It’s quite an achievement to forget your own birthday Amatus,” Dorian said laughing.

        “Well… I have to admit… it’s the first time in a long while since anyone threw me a birthday party. The last I had was when I was twelve before I was sent to the circle. Thank you, all of you,” Trevelyan said as his voice quivered slightly with emotion. He reached up to wipe a tear away as he grinned.

        Blackwall cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention before they started touching the dishes. “Well after the food and gifts, I hope everyone doesn’t mind coming with me to the Slope to have a slight game… it’s sort of mine and Sera’s gift to you Islington. Now don’t ask us what yet. It’s meant to be a surprise after all.”

        The party fell into full swing. Even the more conservative of folks were interacting with each other, just chatting. The atmosphere was relaxed and even Sera and Vivienne were on civil terms. One by one they came over to give gifts to the Inquisitor.

        Harding gave him an amulet she had found, while Bull and the Chargers gave him a full barrel of his favourite whiskey. It would take a while before he actually could finish it, even if he shared it with quite a few folks. Vivienne presented him with a silver ring, engraved with runes for protection. Sera passed him the comb.

        A new deck of playing cards for Wicked Grace was a gift from Varric. It had been crafted in Orlais with fairly intricate designs on each card, more than the usual designs the cards held. Islington promised they would use it later after everything had settled down, and only then with those who wanted to play… much to Cullen’s relief. The Commander was not that ready to go against the Ambassador so soon.

        Dorian had hinted that his gift was for his lover’s eyes only and no one else questioned the Tevinter’s words. Cassandra and Josephine had the decency to blush a little on hearing it. Solas presented a small portrait of Islington himself. It was done in charcoal, much to the Inquisitor’s liking. It was after all, black and white in nature. There had not been enough time for Solas to paint, perhaps the next year. He’d mark it on his calendar.

        “Here, you should open this only when you’re in your room Islington,” Cole said as he thrust a wrapped up package towards the man. It was small and the size of his palm, and Islington wondered what it was. “Of course Cole, thank you.” He wondered what sort of trinket it would be, but slipped it into his pocket for later. Knowing Cole, it would be something of sentimental value to him.

        Josephine presented him with a beautifully bound leather notebook while Leliana gave him a lovely pair of boots. It had come as a surprise for both the Spymaster and Inquisitor that the redhead had a fondness of shoes. That had only arisen after Leliana started gushing about the different kind of shoes that the nobles had worn in the Winter Palace, and Islington offered his own critique on them, going into the styles and the soles that he preferred. The two of them had more presence of mind than to go on about shoes in front of the other members of the Inquisition but it was nice to find a common topic to bond over given their drastically different experiences and viewpoints. Islington may wear the title of the Herald of Andraste but he was by no means a believer.

        The warriors gave the mage and spymaster an odd look as the Trevelyan boy gushed over the stitches and leatherwork evident.

        Krem nudged Bull gently at the side. “I knew he is quite the fop but this is the first time I’m actually seeing him… get all excited over shoes.”

        “You and me both Krem.”

        Cullen and Cassandra walked over with a box. “From Cassandra and I, we thought you might want to name him yourself,” he said as he presented the kitten. From behind the Inquisitor, those who heard immediately shook their heads and waved their hands wildly making crosses. Cullen stared at them, before his eyes widened as he recalled what had happened the last time Islington was asked to name anything. The seeker stared for a moment and it was only a second after Cullen that she realised just what a mistake had been made.

        Completely oblivious of and entranced by the ball of fluff, the Ostwick mage smiled and lifted the playful kitten out from the box, and it immediately started to nose at his hands. “Oh…. thank you… gah…”

        Islington tried to pry the baby’s teeth off his fingers. “Aww… aren’t you a cute button. I’ll call you… Cat.”

        Cat then mewed at the Inquisitor, and there were sounds of palms smacking against the faces of people.

        “Who names a cat Cat?!” Sera whispered to Blackwall.

        “The same person who named his horse, Horse, his halla, Halla,” came the warden’s defeated reply. “It’s probably a good thing that he and Dorian can’t have children. I hate to think what names he would give them if Dorian doesn’t protest.”

        Whether he did it on purpose or not, Islington was rather fond of using such names on his animals… while he had been advised against it, they knew it was an argument they would not win.

 

* * *

 

        The party gathered at the slopes, much to the amusement of the Skyhold residents.

        “Right, now Sera… decorated a rather nice looking cheese wheel for you… and I got a bit of butter here. I know you haven’t been back to Ostwick in ages and I figured you’d like to participate in some of the games you might have had back home.”

        Inquisitor Trevelyan stared speechless at the Grey Warden as he held his kitten in his arms.

        “That is a lovely wheel of cheese… thank you Sera…. Blackwall.” The kitten was passed to Dorian to hold while he studied the cheese wheel, admiring the patterns. He turned to look at his peers smiling a little.

        “I… I would appreciate it if you all could take part in the cheese run… it’s… something I enjoyed back home. It’s silly but it actually takes tremendous amount of skill to be able to go after it, and you’d have to select the right kind of size and grease for the slope.”

        “My dear, it’s not really becoming of…” Vivienne started.

 

        Who knew the man they called Inquisitor could actually pull off the wounded puppy expression so well?

 

        Several moments later a cheese wheel was seen rolling down the slope from the stairs to the stables, through the marketplace, with the residents of Skyhold cheering as those of the Inner Circle ran after it. It bounced off the cobbled stones. The Iron Bull charged through, eyes fixated on the prize that he failed to notice that a cart carrying a full load of cabbages was partially in his way.

        “My cabbages!” the cabbage merchant cried as the heads went bouncing onto the road once more.

        Cole ended up getting the cheese, and he was giddy with excitement, much to everyone’s amusement. That had been a lot more fun than they had expected… although Vivienne protested that she had only done it because it was the Inquisitor’s birthday.

        Soon though, their duties called them away, but a few hours of fun had been had and brought the group closer together.

 

* * *

 

        Come the evening, Islington stood alone in his quarters. There was a letter from his parents wishing him happy birthday but that was it from his family. He took the Cole’s gift out from his pocket. He felt the shape underneath his fingers and frowned, recognising it partially. As he slowly undid the wrapping, he held back his emotions as he held a black signet ring in his hands.

        Islington tenderly ran his fingers over his family’s crest and held it close. “Thank you Cole, I thought it was gone forever,” he whispered.

        “Your brother wanted you to have it. I can feel it when I found it. It was calling to me from the temple. That’s how I know it’s yours,” the boy said. “I thought you might want it too.”

        “It does help, thank you Cole… I… I appreciate it,” Islington said smiling at his friend, who vanished from the spot. Islington carefully took the signet ring and placed it on his desk, next to the porcelain cats. He knew no more would come this year or the year after. The cats only came from one person, and his brother had perished alongside many others at the conclave.

        When Dorian showed up a while later, the Inquisitor was sitting quietly at his desk, turning the signet ring in his hands thoughtfully, although by now he had settled his emotions. Seeing his lover walk in, Islington placed the ring down once more, leaning forward. The Tevinter never failed to bring a smile to his lips.

        “Well Amatus, how are you feeling?”

        “I suppose… It’s been a long and tiring day… Cole got me my brother’s signet ring. I couldn’t find his body after the explosion, but Cole found it for me. I suppose it’s more than what others would get… I do miss him sometimes.”

        Dorian slipped a hand on the man’s shoulder, squeezing it to reassure him. “I know… and we’ll get Corypheus and settle the score… but now it’s your birthday. Are you ready for your birthday present from me?”

        Islington raised his eyebrows at the man. “Of course… are those… silk scarves?” he asked eying the fabric the mage had brought in.

        “All ten of them for your show.”

        “This is definitely, a good birthday.”


End file.
